Mark made new friends—people who lived for the thrill of the night, for rooftop parties that lasted until dawn, for music so loud it felt like it echoed in their bones. The nightclubs became his second home, each one a new world where he could lose himself in the beat, the lights, and the carefree laughter of people who, like him, wanted to live as though each night was their last.

He would dance for hours, swaying to the beat of the music, helped by drugs that made him feel invincible. Walking through the city, Mark believed the town was infinite and anything was possible. He started experimenting with substances that dulled his sense of consequence and made him feel untouchable, as though the city was his playground.

Gradually, he distanced himself from his previous way of life. The Church, his father's quiet faith, and even their modest apartment seemed like relics of a past he had outgrown. The nights gave him energy, with friends who partied like they had no care in the world. Watching the city lights melt into the horizon in the morning, he felt like a king. The world seemed to open up before him, filled with endless opportunities for excitement and adventure.

However, after the night's excitement, he woke up increasingly empty every day. He attempted to quench this emptiness with more music, more friends, more laughter, but the darkness lingered. He would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, memories of his father's comforting words echoing in his mind. He wondered if he had made the right choice, if the freedom he had sought was worth the price of losing his peace. He tried to ignore the creeping sense of loneliness and emptiness, but it grew stronger each day, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Mark's friends were always around, yet they offered no real connection. They were there for the thrill and excitement, and when the music stopped and the lights faded, they disappeared into the shadows. He had traded his father's love and the comfort of his faith for something fleeting and hollow.